


Mitigation

by thattrainssailed



Series: Words Hung Above, But Never Would Form [4]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Internalised Homophobia, M/M, Non-Explicit Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 10:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15071426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thattrainssailed/pseuds/thattrainssailed
Summary: Alexander has a soldier’s posture. Magnus notices it the first time he sees him. Straight back, chin up, eyes constantly on the move, surveying the environment around him. There’s so much tension in his shoulders that Magnus is surprised the shadowhunter doesn’t shake with it. Taut alertness pulled tight against his back, forever standing against the wall of a world that could attack at any moment.





	Mitigation

Alexander has a soldier’s posture. Magnus notices it the first time he sees him. Straight back, chin up, eyes constantly on the move, surveying the environment around him. There’s so much tension in his shoulders that Magnus is surprised the shadowhunter doesn’t shake with it. Taut alertness pulled tight against his back, forever standing against the wall of a world that could attack at any moment. **  
**

It isn’t surprising to see a shadowhunter with a military air to them - Magnus has interacted with the nephilim more than enough to know the way they raise their children. The fact that Alexander is a Lightwood only adds to the sense made by the trait. Of course Maryse rears only warriors; of course Robert would push on his children’s spines until their posture could rival that of any mundane Marine. Alexander is not surprising.

But then Magnus meets Isabelle and Jace. And the confusion sets in.

Because they’re relaxed. They wear bright, bold smiles, excitement and adrenaline pushing their movements, muscles bending and twisting with laughter and instinct and leisure. Someone makes a joke that leads to Isabelle doubling over with giggles while Jace throws his head back to crack up. Joy trembles in their bodies, the life inside them vibrating as it struggles to be contained.

Alexander stands beside them, allowing a small, measured smile. His body stays still, arms at his sides. His head is held high, but not with confidence. Magnus watches, and he wonders.

He finds his answers soon enough.

A few inquiries through his abundance of connections form his suspicions; continued contact with Alexander confirms them. He never directly asks - against his better senses, he’s becoming fond of the man and doesn’t want to give him a heart attack - but it’s more than enough to observe. Alexander’s back gets a little straighter when Magnus smiles at him; their hands brush and his chin tilts up, eyes darting in the other direction; Magnus flirts and the tension in Alexander’s shoulders pulls even tighter. He perfects his soldier’s stance facing a war no one else can see, but which leaves him battered and exhausted, shattered into submission, until the only thing keeping him upright is the iron spine from which he hangs his beaten body.

He’s always trying to stand taller, as though it will somehow save him. As though his tortured vertebrae might find a solution in rigidity. As though he can lift himself up and away from Magnus. Away from the place in hell he has marked out for himself.

The tension is all Magnus can see when Alexander turns away from him the day before his wedding.

It’s still there when Magnus sees him at the end of the aisle twenty-four hours later.

As their mouths move together for the first time, a continuous internal cry of  _holy shit_  drowning out the more scandalised gasps of the Clave, Alexander wins his war. When he pulls away, Magnus chasing his lips, and their eyes meet, Magnus can see him standing on a battlefield, his enemies at his feet. In that moment, Magnus makes it his mission to bring Alexander home from the front lines.

It’s a process, of course. In the days, weeks, months following the wedding that wasn’t, Magnus becomes familiar with Alexander’s body and all the astriction holding his muscles. His jaw pulses beneath Magnus’ lips. Arms stay strictly by his sides as he watches Magnus makes drinks. Even his tendons tighten against the warlock’s palm when he slides their fingers together.

But change does come, however gradually.

It comes in many small things. His chin dropping slightly to return Magnus’ smile.; giggles that hunch his shoulders; the hint of a sprawl while they watch bad reality TV. Every tiny gesture is an exercise in mitigation. At first, the reprieves disappear as quickly as they arrive, but eventually they stick around for a few seconds, then a couple of minutes, then until Alexander catches him and draws back into himself. Finally he stops doing even that.

Magnus refuses to admit that he sheds a tear the first time he walks out of the kitchen to find his boyfriend sprawled out on the couch, tossing popcorn in the air and trying to catch it in his mouth, unaware of his audience.

That night, when they’re moving together, Magnus leans forward to map out Alexander’s flexible spine with his mouth, teeth worshipping the knobs of his bones until they’re mapped by bruises. He revels in the way the man beneath him twists and whines, finally uncaring about holding it all in, muscles at last free from the shame that held Alexander’s body captive for so long. When his pleasure peaks, his entire body goes loose and pliant. He remains relaxed in Magnus’ arms afterwards, body shaking with laughter as the warlock praises him with exaggerated pet names. They fall asleep nestled together.

Alexander’s battlefield has long turned to ashes.

**Author's Note:**

> I mainly hang out on [tumblr](https://thattrainssailed.tumblr.com/). Come yell at me.


End file.
